Draguignan, Place D'Azemar 1972

Włodzimierz Zakrzewski loaded his brush with greens, greys, and browns, and evoked Draguignan, Place D'Azemar, maybe en plein air. The thick strokes of paint conjure not just what he saw, but how he felt standing there, capturing the light filtering through the trees onto the street. I imagine him squinting, trying to make sense of the scene before him, mixing colors on his palette, and then applying them to the canvas with swift, decisive gestures. You can almost feel the rhythm of his hand as he built up the layers of paint, each stroke adding to the texture and depth of the image. Zakrzewski’s painting is a study in contrasts: the solid, grounded trees versus the fleeting quality of light, the stillness of the moment versus the implied movement of the people and cars. It reminds me of Corot, but a bit rougher. It’s a conversation between painters across time, each adding their voice to the ongoing story of painting. It embraces the uncertainty of perception, allowing for multiple interpretations and meanings.